Like a Knife by Annie Solomon Page A

he going to do anyway- say no? He had nothing to look forward to except hustling hot watches on the street.
    So it started. A weekend here, a week there, then summers, and suddenly Nicky had his own room, a key. By the time he was sixteen, Rennie had given Nick the Porsche he'd tried to steal.
    And now he was back, roaming the halls the way he used to, upsetting everyone, a potential damn pain in the ass.
    "And what if he finds the kid," Frank said, "and doesn't hand him back... or the rest?"
    Rennie smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes. "Then he'll bleed, Frank, and so will everyone around him."
    * * *
     
    Cold settled at the base of Nick's spine as he left the reception. He moved surely, the route imprinted on his memory. Left down the hallway, then right, then down three steps. He steeled himself against all the familiar sights. The walls, the furniture... they looked the same. God, they smelled the same. White carpets hugged the floors, white silk moire covered the walls; white wool, leather, or silk swathed the furniture. It churned his stomach to see that deathly frost again.
    At the entrance to what had once been his suite of rooms, he balked. He remembered the first time he'd slept there. New clothes on the chair, a TV, a phone. He thought he'd died and gone to heaven; he'd never have to cruise a dirty, noisy street again.
    Safe at last.
    He' d been seduced once. Could Rennie do it again?
    As if in answer, a voice said, "It's just the way you left it."
    Nick turned. Martin had a sly, knowing expression on his face. "It's all here. Your suits, your clothes. Rennie wouldn't let us touch any of it." He pushed past Nick and opened closets and dresser drawers. "It's a fucking shrine, Nicky. A shrine to the fallen angel."
    Nick took a step into the room. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been holding his breath, waiting for a trap to spring. But no monster jumped out at him. It's just a room. Your room.
    "Here, Rennie wants you to take a look at this." Martin flipped a manila envelope at Nick, then squeezed his massive body into a leather armchair,
    "What is it?"
    "Open it up and see for yourself."
    Nick's hands slowed when he saw what was inside. He snapped a quick look at Martin, who gazed back with thin-lipped satisfaction. Bastard. Clearly, he knew what the contents of that envelope would do to Nick.
    Sliding onto a small couch, he pulled out the photographs and spread them on the coffee table. Eight-by-ten black-and-whites, taken with a long lens. Surveillance photos. Each one showed Shelley and a solemn, dark-haired boy in a playground. On the swings. By the monkey bars.
    "What's his name?"
    "Isaac."
    Nick stared into the boy's face. Was Nick's own looking back at him? No, the boy was Shelley all over. He had her heart-shaped face, her mouth, and the curve of her brow. But he was dark. Dark as Rennie, whose hair had been inky before turning white.
    Dark as Nick.
    But Rennie's eyes were blue, Shelley's green. Whose eyes did the boy have? They looked out at Nick, serious and unsmiling. In the black-and-white photos, they could have been any color.
    Nick asked, "Did you take these?"
    "Why? Don't you like the play of light and shadow?"
    Nick ignored the sarcasm. "What park are they in?" He noticed a gnarled tree in the background of several shots, but few other markers. Given the angle of the pictures, they could have been taken anywhere.
    "I don't know. I took a lot of pictures."
    "Come on, Marty, give me a little help here. You help me, maybe I can help you."
    Martin snorted and rose. "You think I need your help?" He paced away, light on his feet for such a bulky man. "I know what you're up to, Nick. You're here to make trouble for everyone."
    "Only if I can."
    Martin turned, eyeing him with thinly veiled hostility. "Go ahead and try. We're all in the clear. Or maybe you haven't seen the police report. The night Shelley died, Rennie and Frank were at a Cancer Society fund-raiser. Rennie was on the dais. Two